Cain was prepared for another normal day at work; sure, being a stripper wasn’t exactly an average job, but he’d still managed to settle into some semblance of a routine. Dance, maybe get a few drinks, maybe find someone to warm his bed for a night, but probably just go home and drink wine like some sad middle-aged widow. At least the dancing part was fun; Cain had never even tried to deny that holding the attention of a room was exhilarating , no matter who occupied it.
He wasn’t really a fan of the whole “strippers dressed like cops” cliche, but that didn’t mean the club itself didn’t subscribe to it. Well, it wasn’t like he was watching himself strip, so he supposed it didn’t really matter what he wore, as long as he was good at taking it off.
And naturally, he was. He had to admit, the handcuffs were a nice touch, too.
The stage was dark as he strode out, but the atmosphere was as alive as always, putting a swagger in his step that even he didn’t usually have offstage. There was a chair in the center of the stage, and as the lights came on, he spun it around and threw one leg over the side, straddling it backwards facing the audience. As the standard cheers and whistles erupted (and weren’t those nice on the ego), a sly smirk lit up his face, and as the bass thudded deep in his chest, he started really moving. Dancing here wasn’t the same dancing on the colonies, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be absolutely filthy. And Cain was very good at filthy. The chair didn’t last long, thrust up against and tossed aside after a few beats, and Cain’s pants didn’t last much longer, torn away to reveal a pair of shorts much more revealing (and they went much nicer with the stilettos he was wearing, after all).
He was pretty sure he’d never seen a cop in stilettos, but he figured realism wasn’t exactly what he was supposed to be going for here as he spun his cuffs around his finger.
Halfway through a spin, he met eyes with someone he’d thought had walked out of his life forever. Abel was front row and center, pressed up against the stage with a blush lit up on his face, and he nearly dropped the cuffs as he tried to puzzle out what he was supposed to feel. It was Abel, and that should say it all, but it had been so long…
A particularly loud whistle brought Cain’s attention back to what he was doing, and he tried to shake free the familiar fluttering in his chest. He couldn’t afford to be lovestruck, or heartbroken, or horny, or whatever was going on right now; he was working.
And for the duration of this song (exactly four minutes and seventeen seconds, if he remembered correctly), he was going to show Abel exactly what he’d been missing while he played the good boy back at home with mommy and daddy. He winked at Abel just before running his hands down the body the other knew so well, rocking his hips towards the other suggestively. Cain was a damn good stripper, and he knew it. He could make Abel regret ever leaving him behind, and he was damned if the other was going to walk out of this club without doing exactly that.
It was almost cruel to make him watch this. On one hand, it set his body on fire and reminded him when that body on stage danced and moved a top him, an occasionally beneath; that was the thought that caused a heat to begin pooling in his lower stomach and his breath to hitch in watch. However on the other, this performance was a reminder of what he was missing -- the piece of him in which he never wanted to leave behind but was forcibly pulled from and in doing so realized just how terrible the other was for him.
How terrible, but how far too addictive.
The hungry eyes of the others around him were unsettling. Part of him still believed that which was one stage to be his.. Though, was that really ever true to begin with? It wasn’t by choice that he left the other behind, but thinking back, if he were given the choice... would he have left anyways? Outside of their confines, such a ‘relationship’ was undesirable. It didn’t make sense at all.
They... so rarely ever displayed any sort of genuine feelings, though it was obviously felt from his end. To others and even to himself, he defended Cain to the ends of the galaxy. That he was not what others thought he was, but often was proven wrong in his defense.. Even to himself on occasion. But still, in a way he wanted to believe that the other cared for him as more than object to keep his sexual tensions low and the toy in a scheme. He hoped anyways, but knew that... he was probably wrong.
As the other was dancing the way he was, hands running down his own body, a crowd far too loud, he could feel his breaths growing heavier. The jealousy and lust coursing through his veins quicker than blood. It was almost painful to watch. No, it was painful to watch. He knew it couldn’t last forever, but he felt like that perhaps if he left the other would... be even more mad at him. Cain had a right to be angry, he was pulled away without a trace... But even if it was by choice, could the other really blame him for leaving? As though on reflex, his hand rose to gently play the tips of his fingers against the scar across soft lips. Could he have blamed me if it was a choice?
When the song finally began to wind down, he shoved his way back through the crowd, finally breaking eye contact and his face immediately beginning to cool down from its inferno. Eyes darting around to look for something that would appear to be like a backstage area, he made his way towards the side of the room, which was far less crowded until he found a roped off area. Leaning forward over the ropes, he saw the steps from the stage and smirked triumphantly.
Silently he waited for the opportunity to slip past security when they weren’t paying attention and darted beneath the velvet ropes, this hallway already providing to be much brighter than the club itself. He wanted for the ‘performance’ to be done, he could feel his heart rate increasing, the thudding in his chest audible.
The click of heels could be heard going down stairs, and it felt as though the air from his lungs has left. How long had it been? A year...? More than that? And he was still so hung up... His mind drifting for a moment, his thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Cain stood before him, his whole body stiffening. What did he do? Was he supposed to run and hug him? Punch him into the face? Kiss him? Beg for forgiveness or tell him he owes him an apology?
None of those things happened, instead he let out a shaky breath, “Cain...?”
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